I was leaving a breakfast meeting at the Roanoker on a beautiful, warm September morning. I had the top down and was listening to the radio as I drove out of the parking lot to Colonial Ave. I remember thinking what a great day it was. But, like the soap opera character who voices a similar sentiment -- only to be stalked and killed by an evil twin within the month -- I was to be proven wrong by a newsbreak on Q-99. A plane had hit the World Trade Center. How awful! Must have been a small plane.
As the morning unfolded and got worse and worse, work was forgotten. Colleagues gathered in the conference room to watch TV. Our pre-cable set required the antenna to be taped to the set, then draped over a chair. All we could get was NBC.
I remember the day -- and many days afterward -- were disproportionately beautiful. It is hard to recall a longer stretch of beautiful weather. I tried not to watch the coverage, but that was all there was. For days. What a relief it was for reruns and soaps to come back on the following week.
The attack happened on a Tuesday. Wednesday morning I took my trash and recycling to the curb. Life went on. And still does, but we're forever changed.
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